


WiP Amnesty: Merlin

by MontanaHarper



Category: Merlin (TV), Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Community: wip_amnesty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/MontanaHarper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think I'm pretty much tapped out when it comes to <em>Merlin</em>, so here's an unofficial WiP Amnesty collection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epiphany Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I write falls under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/), including the WiP amnesty stuff, so if anyone wants to finish something, remix it, whatever, that's cool with me so long as the license conditions are met.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Spoilers through 1x13._ Aspects of plot shamelessly filched from some play or other that nobody's ever heard of. *koff*MuchAdoAboutNothing*koff*

When Morgana followed the voice, it led her deep into the castle dungeons and beyond, and when she stepped out onto the rock ledge only to come face to face with a dragon, she was not at all surprised. She had seen him in her dreams, recognized his voice as the one that had been haunting her, and knew instinctively that the part he was to play in forging the future of Camelot was a vital one.

She listened attentively as he spun out a tale of destinies intertwined, of kings and princes and lowly servants, and when he had finished she asked simply, "What would you have me do?"

The dragon's answer was simple as well, if a bit unspecific: The bond between Merlin and Arthur must be strengthened if the horrible promise of Morgana's nightmares was to remain unfulfilled.

Further questions led only to an enigmatic, "Fortifications cannot be built upon sand. When the time comes, you will know what to do."

As she made her way back up to the more populated areas of the castle, Morgana puzzled over the dragon's words. While it was quite flattering that the creature had so much confidence in her, it was in equal part annoying to be presented with a riddle and then be summarily dismissed.

A sudden gust of wind pushed apart heavy wool curtains, the icy draught catching at her skirts and her hair and giving her a glimpse through the embrasure at the maelstrom of white that swirled outside. She pulled her ermine mantle closer and quickened her pace, hoping for the dozenth time in as many days that the storm would soon spend itself.

She'd nearly reached her rooms when a page caught up to her breathlessly and said, "Begging your pardon, my lady, but the king has requested you attend him."

 _At least it will be warm in the great chamber,_ she told herself.

There were no guards in attendance – only Arthur, leaning with one hip hitched up onto the table until he was half sitting on it, obviously deep in conversation with his father. Uther glanced up as she entered, his expression one of such fondness that it warmed her more than did the room's blazing fire.

"There you are, Morgana. Come, sit," Uther said, his countenance as pleased and pleasant as she had seen it in quite a while. As soon as she'd settled herself in one of the high-backed chairs nearest the hearth, he continued, "Arthur and I were just discussing what to do about this blasted snow."

Arthur raised one eyebrow at her in silent challenge, and she smiled sweetly back, then said to Uther, "I believe the usual course of action is 'suffer through it,' my lord."

"Father seems to be of the opinion that you and I need be the only ones suffering," Arthur said wryly, the corners of his mouth lifting in true amusement as Uther reached out and cuffed him lightly. "Sorry, Sire," he amended, his expression schooled into something approaching seriousness. "I meant to say that you are entrusting us with elevating the spirits of the court."

Morgana turned a puzzled frown on Uther, not at all certain how he expected her to aid in easing the blizzard's oppressive weight – a weight under which all of Camelot laboured. The storm had overstayed its already uncertain welcome by nearly a week, rendering the roads impassable and burying the castle in snowdrifts that measured taller than Morgana herself, leaving Uther playing host to not only the members of the nobility invited to court for the Christmas season, but to any with business in Camelot over the past fortnight as well. The atmosphere had moved rapidly from celebratory to claustrophobic, the heavy blanket of snow seeming to exaggerate the fraying of tempers in the same way it did the sun- and moonlight, until even the most imperturbable became snappish.

"I thought perhaps a tournament of sorts," Uther said. "I'm sure you'll find many among the servants who could entertain the court with song or tale or romantic verse."

Uther's confidence in her, like that of the dragon, was in equal parts flattering and annoying. Still, she nodded, certain she had no more choice in this matter than in the other. "How is the victor to be determined, my lord, and what shall be the prize?"

"I suggested one champion per remaining night of feasting," Arthur interjected, "to be chosen by the court."

Uther nodded. "The prize shall be a place at the king's table for the Twelfth Night festivities," he said, looking pleased with himself.

"If that's settled," Arthur said, straightening up from his slouch, "then I should be off to find Merlin. It wouldn't do to be lacking entertainment for tonight's feast, now would it?" He was nearly to the door when he stopped and looked back over his shoulder, smiling brightly at her in a way that had been setting off her alarm bells since they were both children. "You'll speak with everyone who works in the castle, Morgana? I'll take care of the rest."

 _Merlin will take care of the rest, you mean._ She squashed the uncharitable thought before it had the chance to pass her lips; it might be true, but it was equally true that she had every intention of enlisting Gwen's aid, making her no better than Arthur. A quick nod of acknowledgement sent Arthur on his way.

~ | ~ | ~

 

One of the servants Morgana asked in passing had apparently seen Gwen near the kitchens recently, so that was the direction she turned; Arthur was right that they needed to be quick if they were to have a full evening's entertainment tonight.

 

[Morgana is in the kitchens, looking for Gwen. She starts to round a corner and stops when she hears a woman apparently berating a man, calling him useless, etc., and there's something familiar about it. Gwen appears at her shoulder at about the same moment that the man responds, his words and tone obviously affectionate as he teases the woman back until she laughs and Morgana hears them kiss. Gwen tugs her away from the storeroom and grins at her, saying something like, "Aren't they sweet?" When Morgana questions her further, Gwen says that it's Maggie the cook and her beau Eoin.]

[Morgana asks the servants to come see her in the great hall when they can take a few minutes away from their duties, and to pass along the request to the rest of the castle staff as they see them throughout the day. She sets herself up with some parchment, quills, and ink, and makes a list of each person who comes to her, along with what they'll be doing to entertain the court.]

 

"Oh, no," Morgana said, raising her voice slightly to be sure her words carried to where Arthur was standing [beside/near/whatever]. "You cannot let Merlin confess his feelings, Gwen. Arthur is far too in love with himself to have room in his heart for anyone else, and the humiliation of his rejection would kill Merlin."

 

 

"My lady, _please_ —" Gwen said, her tone so earnest that had Morgana not been the [instigator/creator] of the [plan], she would have believed her maidservant to be in honest distress.

Morgana interrupted, not wanting Merlin to get away before the trap could be sprung [other metaphor? lure dangled?], "No, Gwen, I'm sorry but I cannot allow you to tell Merlin. Arthur would never forgive me."

[]

"[] He could not bear the idea of Merlin coming to him out of some sense of [duty/obligation], or worse, out of fear for his position."

 

 

"Merlin!" Morgana hissed, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him around a corner into a[n alcove]. Her voice barely a whisper, she continued, "Was that magic?"

Merlin's eyes widened just a little and he shook his head, the movement slight but emphatic. "No, no, not at all. It was just juggling," he said, equally softly. "[explains about being the village childminder, responsible for entertaining the ones old enough to walk but too young to help out in the fields and kitchens]."

 

 

[length of yellow silk for Gwen; dried bouquet of lavender, rosemary, chamomile and bergamot for Morgana; new boots for Arthur?]

 

[secondary plot (for the anachronism challenge): talent competition by the servants for the entertainment of the nobility. Takes place over the days leading up to twelfth night, with the winners from each day sitting at the King's table for the TN feast. Castle snowed in, guests restless. Gwen sings, Merlin juggles (fruit and then flaming torches), stable master Eoin throws knives (at Morgana? at Maggie?), someone plays an instrument, mystery play (story from the Bible), jester/tumbling, archery, fire eater/sword swallower, . Obv Merlin wins.


	2. Fateor Interruptus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times Merlin tries to confess his secret to Arthur, and one time he manages it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Character death, though not Arthur or Merlin.

~ | ~ | ~

  


\- = 5 = -

Merlin wakes to the sound of a nightingale outside his window, its song the sweetest thing he's ever heard. He dresses quickly and runs his fingers through his hair, then leans on the sill to watch dawn begin to paint the dusky canvas of the sky in brilliant shades of yellow and orange. The sudden insistent rumbling of his stomach reminds him that he's meant to be getting breakfast – his own and Arthur's – and so he slips quietly past Gaius's sleeping form and out into the corridor.

The kitchens are already bustling with activity when he gets there, so he grabs a portion of bread from one of yesterday's loaves and a bit of butter to spread on it, and then settles down on a stool in the corner to eat. The subject of the day's gossip appears to be Prince Arthur, the kitchen staff taking turns recounting increasingly improbable tales of his heroic deeds in the Forest of Balor. Merlin's memories are disjointed, the images blurred and distorted by poison-induced delirium, but they're still probably more accurate than these rumours.

He doesn't share them.

After he finishes his own breakfast, Merlin puts together a tray and takes it upstairs. Arthur is still abed, his hair tousled and golden in the early morning light, and when he favours Merlin with a soft smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes it's like Merlin's world has shattered and been remade, everything the same and yet entirely different. _I love him,_ Merlin realises, stunned.

He's not sure how long he stands there in the throes of his personal epiphany, but it's long enough for Arthur's expression to turn first puzzled and then exasperated, as he shifts until he's sitting up against the headboard. "Am I to be allowed to eat my breakfast, then, or must I simply gaze longingly at it from afar?" he asks irritably, but in this newly remade world Merlin can hear the affection that laces the sarcastic words and he can't stop what he knows is an idiotic grin.

He leaves the tray on the table as usual and ignores how his heart is suddenly trying to pound its way free of his chest. "You should hear what they're saying about you in the kitchens." Affecting as close to a feminine tone as he can, he sing-songs, "'Prince Arthur is so strong and brave! They say he killed a hundred magical beasts that blocked his way, and a hundred more with his bare hands when his sword was torn from his grip.' If Maggie and Afton had their way, they'd be up here finger-feeding you morsels of cake and honey, as befits a hero of your legendary stature."

"Quite right, too," Arthur starts, then pauses and looks thoughtful. "Maggie. She's the one with hair the colour of fire and a temper to match?" At Merlin's nod, he pulls a face and says, "Probably safer this way, then."

Privately, Merlin disagrees, but aloud he says, "I never did hear what really happened."

"Nothing near so exciting as the scullery tales, I'm afraid," Arthur says with a shrug, and Merlin's fairly sure that's all he's going to get. He's about to turn away when Arthur nods at the empty expanse of bed beside him and continues, "Sit and I'll tell you, if you really want to know."

Merlin sits, perching carefully on the edge of the feather mattress. Arthur raises his eyebrows and then says very slowly, like Merlin is a small and possibly mentally deficient child, "Sit. Up here. By me," and Merlin is beginning to think that maybe he was wrong earlier, that maybe the ache in his chest is just a lingering side effect of nearly dying, because there's no way he could be in love with such an annoying prat. He hesitates for another second, and then crawls up onto the bed, not bothering to take off his boots; it's a tiny gesture and he's only punishing himself in the end, but it's satisfying nonetheless.

He settles with his back to the headboard and his shoulder nearly touching Arthur's. "There," he says, and, "Happy?"

"Deliriously." Arthur's tone is so dry, his delivery so deadpan that Merlin has to stifle a snicker.

"Well, go on then," he says. "I'm prepared to be awestruck by the recounting of your brave and heroic deeds."

Arthur ignores the teasing, which is probably for the best, and once he starts speaking, Merlin's annoyance fades to nothing, because the tale really is a captivating one. There's a fearsome cockatrice, a misused servant girl who turns out to be an evil sorceress, and a cave as dark as a starless sky – which just happens to be filled with giant, man-eating spiders. Listening to Arthur's words is like looking through a glass at his own memories: blurred becomes sharp, disjointed becomes ordered, until it's almost like Merlin had been physically at Arthur's side throughout. As everything comes into focus, it becomes all too easy to relive the panic, too, a twisting in his gut that owed more to his fear for Arthur's life than to the poison that was working its way through his system.

 _You're incredibly brave,_ Merlin wants to say, except he doesn't want to sound like Maggie and Afton and all the other girls in the kitchens. _Thank you for saving my life, but please stop trying to die for me,_ he wants to say, too, except that _he's_ not incredibly brave and the words stick against his tongue and lips and refuse to be spoken. Arthur's been silent for so long that Merlin thinks the story's done, thinks that Arthur isn't going to share the rest of what happened, but then Arthur looks over at him like Merlin's seen him look at the men who come to Camelot to seek favour and knighthood and a place at Uther's court; it's a measuring look, and one that makes Merlin feel like Arthur can see right through to the core of what makes Merlin _Merlin_.

"I wouldn't have made it out on my own," Arthur finally says. "I would've ended up ... I don't know. Tucked away in some spider's larder, to be saved for later like a joint of smoked meat. I was trapped in the darkness, hanging from a cliff edge by my fingertips, with spiders closing in on all sides, and I hadn't even got the Mortaeus leaves yet."

Even though he knows the answer, Merlin feels like Arthur expects him to ask, so he does: "What happened? Who helped you?"

Arthur looks at him – looks _into_ him – again. "A glowing ball appeared at my side, lighting my way and guiding me safely out of the caves. Without it, I'd be dead."

Merlin doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't know how to respond. "Wow, that's –" _amazing_ , he's going to say, but suddenly he can't; the words stick in his throat, held there by all the lies he's told, all the truths he hasn't. The air between them is charged with something he doesn't even have words for, and he has to look away from the intensity of Arthur's gaze. He focuses instead on the narrow strip of bed that separates them, studies the soft woollen blanket, its red the red of Camelot and the red of freshly spilled blood. Arthur would die for him, nearly had died for him, and while he is still occasionally – or even frequently – a self-important git, Merlin trusts him to also be a good man. And Merlin loves him.

Which, honestly, is fairly conclusive evidence that he is the idiot Arthur's always accusing him of being, but it's not like there's anything he can do about it at this late date.

"That magical ball of light," Merlin starts, slanting a look through his lashes at Arthur, who has apparently (and inexplicably) moved nearer without Merlin realising – near enough that his shoulder is pressing against Merlin's, their faces only a few inches apart, and the illusion of intimacy leaves Merlin's heart racing and his mouth dry. "It, um, it was –"

"Merlin," Arthur interrupts, his voice low and a little rough as he closes the distance between them until all Merlin can see is golden skin and [?] and blue eyes darkened with arousal. "Do you understand the meaning of the word 'discretion'?"

"Discretion?" Merlin repeats, caught off his guard and not all certain he isn't missing something, mis _interpreting_ something, because this is seeming unexpectedly like a seduction. "I – Yes?" Breathed against Arthur's parted lips, it's an answer to asked and unasked question alike; Merlin lets his eyes fall closed, his chest tight with fear or anticipation or maybe both.

The anticipated kiss doesn't come. "Yes?" Arthur echoes softly, and Merlin opens his eyes again with a groan, remembering all at once what an absolute prat Arthur is.

If Arthur is just teasing him, stringing him along as some kind of a stupid joke, Merlin is going to murder him, destiny and the Great Dragon be damned. But Arthur doesn't look like he's joking, at least not from what Merlin can see of his expression considering they're close enough to be breathing one another's air, close enough for Merlin to hear the quiet sound of Arthur swallowing ... and it suddenly occurs to him that maybe they're both nervous, both caught off-guard. That realisation makes it the simplest thing in the world for Merlin to reach out and curl his fingers around the back of Arthur's neck, to stroke his thumb along the tender skin beneath Arthur's ear.

"Yes." Emphatically. "Yes, please." Merlin closes the narrow gap between them.

\- = 4 = -

[when arthur wakes up in camelot after merlin has dragged him from the lake (post-Gates of Avalon)]

 

\- = 3 = -

[when they're home from the labyrinth of gedref, after riding through lands that are coming back to life]

 

\- = 2 = -

[post le morte d'arthur]

 

\- = 1 = -

It's a fortnight since Uther's manservant showed up for his morning duties to find his master had died quietly in his sleep, a ten-day since Uther was entombed in the catacombs beneath the castle amid solemn ceremony, and over a week since Arthur was crowned king of Camelot – the last official act of Uther's most trusted court advisor. All of Camelot is still officially in mourning, the very sky itself reflecting the sombre mood in its dreary greyness, and Merlin hasn't seen even the hint of a smile on Arthur's face in what feels like an eternity.

The meal is quiet and private, just Arthur and Morgana at one end of the too-large table in the great chamber, with Gwen hovering beside Morgana in what Merlin recognises is a mirror of his own solicitous posture at Arthur's elbow. It's the first time Arthur and Morgana have dined outside their separate chambers since Uther's death, and Merlin can't help noticing how pale Morgana is, the bruised-looking circles under her eyes speaking volumes about the depth of her grief. As Arthur's constant companion for the last two weeks, he knows Arthur's doing no better.

By some unspoken agreement, none of them looks toward the head of the table, Uther's spot doubly vacant as Arthur ordered the chair taken out of his sight. Servants from the kitchens bring in platter after platter until half the table is covered with food, and then they disappear, leaving an awkward silence in their stead. Merlin steps forward to fill Arthur's goblet with wine, but Arthur puts a hand lightly on Merlin's arm before he can withdraw again.

"Sit down and eat, Merlin," he says, gesturing at the seat beside him. "You too, Gwen. Please."

Merlin sits. Across the table, Gwen looks flustered but follows suit, and Merlin catches the small, grateful smile Morgana aims at Arthur.

[ ]

[Arthur invites Merlin to sit and eat with him, sharing his plate and cup as though they were equals. There's some discussion about what the days ahead hold. Merlin notices that while Arthur still looks pale, with bruise-coloured circles under his eyes, he seems better than he was immediately after his father's death. Comfortable, casual intimacy between Merlin and Arthur; Merlin notices something similar between Morgana and Gwen?]

[ ]

"Merlin?" Arthur sounds [hesitant/tentative], and it's so uncharacteristic, so _wrong_ that Merlin finds himself actually [angry that Uther died and left Arthur knotted up in unfamiliar emotions]. "Will you – Will you attend me in my chamber tonight?" It's not an order, it's a request [].

[ ]

[Besides, how could they be two sides of the same coin with so much coming between them? If it was his destiny to help Arthur become a good king and to stand at Arthur's side as he ruled over a united Albion

[ ]

feel the brush of Arthur's lashes on his cheek when Arthur blinks, slow and languid. ]


	3. ( the one where Colin's dating Bradley and doesn't realise it )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where Colin's dating Bradley and doesn't realise it

The dance floor is crowded and the four of them are dancing in a group, an unspoken decision to avoid pairing off so there's no awkwardness later, no expectations or disappointments. Only, Colin is starting to notice that Katie and Angel are facing one another a little more than they are either him or Bradley, which sort of leaves him and Bradley dancing together, and he wonders if they're truly dancing in a group or if he and Bradley are some kind of ... camouflage.

He's still working his way through the thought when Bradley leans forward and wraps a friendly arm around his neck to tug him close. "My round," Bradley shouts in the vicinity of Colin's ear, his voice all but drowned out by the pounding bass of the techno.

Colin nods and his cheek brushes against Bradley's. "Water for me," he shouts back.

Bradley pulls back and smirks at him, and Colin knows he's going to take the piss later, when he's sure Colin can hear every word of his mocking. Colin just offers him a two-fingered salute and angles his body back toward the girls. Bradley reaches to ruffle his hair and Colin ducks a little, but the crowd is too thick for him to effectively dodge, so he resigns himself to a unique and unflattering hairstyle courtesy of his best mate, and then Bradley's moving past him toward the bar, his body pressing, warm and familiar, against Colin's as he goes.

It's the look on Angel's face that puts the final pieces of the puzzle together for him – a puzzle he didn't even realise he was working [on?]; she's looking at him and Bradley, and she's got the same expression she gets when one of the PAs brings a puppy to the set, like she thinks they're the [cutest/most endearing/most adorable/something more British/Irish?] thing ever.

For a second, Colin can't even breathe and he abruptly stops dancing.

Angel frowns at him and he shakes his head, grins at her like it's nothing. She might suspect, but she wouldn't be the one who would _know_. He glances over his shoulder, at where Bradley's still standing with about a million other punters at the bar, and then he reaches out and grabs Katie's wrist. "Come outside with me?" he shouts in her ear.

She blinks, but nods and turns to shrug apologetically at Angel as he drags her toward the door.

It's cool outside – probably cold, actually, but it just feels refreshing after the close, sweaty atmosphere of the club – and it suddenly strikes Colin just how bad this is going to sound. Still, he has to know. "Katie?" His realises his hand is still around her wrist and he lets go. "Am I – Am I _dating_ Bradley?"

Katie stares at him. "Yes?" she answers, the word drawn out like she thinks he's mental. "Going on two months now?"

[Colin's physical reaction]

Her expression changes to something softer, [?]. "You really hadn't any idea, had you?"

 

[NOTES:

Montana: Where they're at some chi chi French club, and the four of them are dancing, and Colin realizes he and Bradley are kind of dancing together more than they're dancing with the group, and then Bradley leans in and puts an arm around his neck so he can say something in Colin's ear over the loud music, and Colin has this OMG!Epiphany.  
And he grabs Katie at the next opportunity and drags her away so he can ask her if he's dating Bradley.  
casspeach: hee  
Montana: And of course Katie's like, "Uh, yes? For about two months now..."  
And Colin's like, "I had no idea. Fuck. I could've been getting laid."  
And he goes back in and drags Bradley out of the club and back to the hotel.]


	4. ( the one where Bradley has a type )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where Bradley has a type and Santiago knows it

The part Bradley hadn't really thought through when he'd encouraged Santiago to audition for Lancelot so they could work together was that if Santiago got the part they'd be _working together_. Santiago would be in Bradley's space, meeting Bradley's friends and co-workers and _Colin_.

Bradley had a type; he was well aware of this fact. He did not want Angel and Katie and Colin to know it.

Especially since his type was, essentially, Colin.

Santiago's first day on set, Bradley made a point of taking him round to meet everyone. Of course, Santiago charmed all the women effortlessly, and left Katie blushing like a schoolgirl, something that up until that moment Bradley would've sworn was impossible. When Bradley finally introduced him to Colin, though, there was the faintest hesitation, the briefest flicker of something else in Santiago's expression before he smiled and clasped Colin's hand warmly and everything was normal again.

The moment they broke for lunch, Santiago made a beeline for Bradley, but Bradley turned the video camera on him and after a few moments of attempting silent communication with eloquent raises of his eyebrows – something Bradley pretended to be entirely oblivious to – Santiago finally gave up. Bradley should've realised then that it was only a temporary retreat, a strategic withdrawal that would allow Santiago to regroup and attack with more concentrated effort on a more vulnerable front.

"Your friends are nice," Santiago said later, coming up behind Bradley in the hotel lobby.

"Present company excepted," Bradley replied, and okay, it was a little bitchy, but he knew what Santiago was going to say and he didn't want to hear it.

The doors to the lift closed behind them. It creaked slowly upward and Santiago said nothing, but he said it far too loudly for Bradley's tastes. When the doors finally opened again, Bradley followed Santiago to his room and all the way inside, shutting the door behind himself and leaning against it.

"Fine," he snapped. "Let's hear it, then. My friends are nice ... but?"

Santiago shook his head. "There's no 'but', Bradley."

Bradley stood there and watched as Santiago kicked off his trainers and tugged his shirt over his head, obviously planning to bathe or at least change before their arranged dinner meet-up with Katie and Angel and Colin. He got all the way down to his pants before Bradley couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"Okay, so yes, Colin does bear some superficial resemblance to Ethan," he said, pausing for a second to admire the view as Santiago divested himself of the pants, too. "But that doesn't mean anything at all. Certainly not what you think it means."

There was a different but equally nice view for Bradley to admire as Santiago turned and headed for the bathroom. Bradley followed.

"What do I think it means?" Santiago asked, turning on the taps in the jacuzzi tub.

Bradley leaned one shoulder against the door jamb. "You think it means I'm interested in Colin the same as with Ethan. But you're wrong. I'm not. Colin's just a mate."

What Santiago wasn't saying was nigh on deafening now. He was watching Bradley, his fingers trailing idly in the rapidly filling bath.

Bradley fidgeted under the scrutiny, but managed to hold his tongue. All the admiring he'd been doing had finally taken its toll, though; he adjusted himself in his jeans.

[ ]

"Care to join me? There's plenty of room," Santiago said. Bradley looked incredulously at him and he amended, "Enough room, then."

[ ]

"Besides, I'm pretty sure Colin doesn't even do blokes."

"Have you tried asking him?"

"Right, because hitting on presumably straight friends isn't a recipe for disaster or anything."

"I didn't ask if you'd tried following him into the toilets, pinning him against the wall, and sucking him off," Santiago said with a wry grin, "just if you'd tried _asking_."

[Bradley blushing over Santiago's description of their first time.]

[NOTES:  
Colin looks like a boy Bradley had a crush on at DCL (Ethan), someone Santiago knew and knew Bradley's feelings for. When Bradley denies an interest in Colin, Santiago says, "So you won't mind if I...?" And Bradley gets all flail and ZOMG you can't date my friends! and Santiago snickers and suggests Bradley get his head out of his arse.]


	5. ( the one with the gaselli )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one with the gaselli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's really rough; I had more of an idea for it, but I'm not sure where my notes went. Ah, well.

[At a feast, Merlin disappears. Eventually Arthur figures out he went off with a gaselli, and tracks him down, running the gaselli through with his sword to -- as far as he's concerned, at least -- save Merlin from it. ]

"May I tell you something?" the gaselli asked, voice harsh and breathing labored. "A secret?" He didn't wait for an answer, but instead continued, "You have done me a favour, a kindness."

Arthur's expression must have betrayed some hint of his disbelief, because the gaselli smiled faintly, the bright red gloss of blood painting his lower lip and accentuating its fullness. Even now, the gaselli weak and near death, Arthur could feel the thread of desire [?]. It was no wonder Merlin had fallen under his thrall; the gaselli were doubtless sorcerers, in addition to their [?].

"I speak nothing but the truth." His words were coming more slowly, slurred as though fighting against a sluggish tongue. "I am ... a perversion; I bear a wrongness within me that is more abhorrent to my people than any crime you can imagine. My death at your hands is simple, quick - painless, even, when compared to what would be done to me if my secret were discovered. I thank you."

[Merlin's reaction to what he thinks is a condemnation of his attraction to men.]

Arthur couldn't bear to see that [?]

The gaselli's sudden laugh turned into a cough that dragged on, wet and wracking [sp?], long beyond the point where Arthur was sure it was going to [turn] abruptly into the stillness of death. Merlin seemed to cradle him even more tenderly as it finally subsided, using his kerchief to wipe away the blood that trailed from the corner of the gaselli's mouth.

"Not that," the gaselli said with the smallest shake of his head. "Not that, my [beautiful / some term of affection that's not too serious]. You misunderstand me. No, my perversion is far worse than [my choice of bed partner], for I am _husevo_ : eater of the flock. Your life was perfectly safe in my hands, [same term of affection], for I crave not the flesh of man or woman, but only that of the fattened lamb, of the milk-fed calf. In the eyes of my kin, I am nothing less than an abomination."

[NOTES:

[Male Gaselli, Merlin falls, Arthur: "I know your secret."]

3\. Inclusion of a Taglio-like character?  
A. Helping or hindering? Why?  
B. Seducer or on the sidelines?

Be sure to credit and link:  
Catherynne M. Valente's Orphan's Tales: In the Cities of Coin and Spice  
The Gaselli: http://music.skinnywhitechick.com/track/the-gaselli  
Taglio: http://music.skinnywhitechick.com/track/taglio

lyrics:

lithe limbed boys with secrets in your eyes  
come and dance where you'll be understood  
dancing maid, leave your golden ball  
forgotten in the dark of the wood!  
moon and moor and fire and fen  
we hunt in the night for a song  
black hooves flashing as the flames fly high  
you will know us well by the dawn.  
if you dare try the tune sing along!

CHORUS  
wiry gypsy boy, take my hand  
and you'll not be found come mornin  
sham to splendor and back a gain  
where the boot black hooves are shinin

Once and again round the leaping fire  
there's a secret some folk know:  
offer sweet mutton and not your arm--  
better hope that you're dancing with Taglio!  
Better pray the Gaselli is Taglio

do we kiss like poets imagine they do  
twixt the arms of the dusk and the dawn  
by the green you shall know us  
and the boot-black hooves  
whirling round with your heart in pavane  
we are drawn to your leaping fire  
and you feast your mind on our song  
bright eyes flash in the leaping light  
e'er the rising of the sun we are gone  
one or two of your number come along

CHORUS

Last night, Alec drummed like a demon fell  
with the light, he is nowhere to be found  
the lady in green who caught our Alec's eye  
must've whisked him away without a sound!  
where young Bess danced like a fairy faun  
not a trace, and you fear she is dead  
bold Gaselli wear the green just so  
and we'll dance you right out of your head  
and leave behind not a sole drop of red!

bringers of grace and tenders of fire,  
we dance to the beat of your drum  
fret ye not about the boot-black hooves  
in the corner of your eye, nay, it must've been the rum!  
just as well not to think of the feast that's to come  
saving poor Taglio, with a hunger we come!

CHORUScredits from Solace & Sorrow, released 31 October 2007]


End file.
